That Butler, So Refined
by KuroFan4235
Summary: Sebastian notices a few things about his master's manners that need improving. A butler who can't teach is master how to behave properly isn't worth his salt!


_Dedicated to my Grandma._

**That Butler, So Refined**

In the few months since beginning my contract with my present master, I'd noticed a few things that were somewhat…troubling. He was a member of the upper classes of England, a land which prided itself on its refinement; yet, my new master was often crude or thoughtless in his actions. Unfortunate, that. If he was going to be a fine gentleman fitting of his station and, not to mention, a soul worthy of my consumption, then some of his bad habits would have to change.

For example, his language had taken a rather regrettable turn since his captivity. He swore frequently and liberally and did not spare me in any degree. If I displeased him, then I was cursed at, sworn at, and reviled verbally until, I was sure, that the roughest denizen of Whitechapel would have blushed to hear him. When he ate his meals, he slouched in his chair, chewed noisily, and fiddled with his silverware, not to mention a dozen other little mistakes that would have grated on an etiquette teacher's nerves. Often, he slouched when he walked, shuffled his feet, and swung his arms.

No, things could not stay this way much longer. As a Phantomhive butler, I would have to institute some changes.

I was careful in my approach. If he knew that I was trying to change him in any way, he would resist with all the determination in his being. (Humans are such contrary creatures that they even fight against things that are to their benefit.) I began by consulting the books in the library on etiquette and self-improvement. There was a plethora of information available and I devoted more than one night to reading the books I'd found. _The Habits of Good Society_ and _A Guide to the Manners, Etiquette and Deportment of the Most Refined Society _were the perfect references I needed and I read both cover to cover several times.

The essence of such books boiled down to one question that a person could ask himself: Am I a good person? A person, it seemed, would only feel good about himself if he was a good person. A good person could only consider himself such if he behaved in a refined manner: polite to all no matter his station, conscientious in his duties, and constantly striving to better himself. I couldn't disagree with that since souls who were good, that is, the souls of kind people, always tasted delicious. Any demon could coax a bad, cruel, and vicious person into a contract with a minimum of fuss, but it was the good ones, the ones who strove for hope and then handed their souls to us, that were the most delectable.

At any rate, it was a place to begin. I knew that if I mentioned his lackluster behavior, he would persist in it. Instead, I gave him several little hints that let him know he was being less than his best. If he slouched, I would reach out and pull back on his shoulders so he would stand or sit up straight. If he shuffled his feet, it was all too easy to let him topple or stub his toes when he tripped. If he swung his arms, well...let's just say that he suddenly became prone to knocking things over, things which were usually expensive and difficult to replace.

I did other things, as well. When he fiddled with his silverware at the table, I would take his plate away. The first time I did that, he was mystified.

"What are you doing, Sebastian?" he demanded as I took away an almost-full plate of roast chicken with rice.

I stopped and pretended to be confused. "Weren't you finished with your meal, young master?"

"Did I look finished?" he snapped.

"Forgive me," I told him, replacing his plate. "You were playing with your silverware..."

"Hmmph," he said, glaring at me. "Don't assume things."

I kept doing it, though. As soon as he began playing with his silverware or slouching at the table, I would take his plate away. I could tell he was becoming exasperated with me, but I wasn't about to stop.

I began to correct his language, too. Whenever he used a crude phrase or swore, I would clear my throat. It wasn't long before I began to sound like a human with an illness, and it wasn't long at all before my master noticed.

"What's the matter with you, Sebastian?" he asked one afternoon during a walk outside. He'd been annoyed at some unfortunate insects and he'd sworn at them.

"Why, nothing, young master," I assured him. "What makes you think there is something wrong?"

"You keep making that damn noise," he said, soundly supremely annoyed. "Are you coming down with something?"

"I do not become ill like humans do," I told him, clearing my throat again. "I'm just fine, young master."

"You don't sound fine."

Before I could reassure him that I was, indeed, just fine, he tripped and swore again. I caught him just in time to keep him from landing face-first in the gravel and I cleared my throat.

"There you go again," he snapped. "Are you lying to me?"

"It is part of our contract that I not lie to you, young master," I reminded him. "I do not lie."

"Well, why do you keep making that noise?"

He'd asked me a straight question, so I would have to answer him. "Because you've been swearing, young master, and I felt I should call attention to it somehow."

There were times when he looked so _adorable_ when he was confused! "Why?" he said, clearly confused beyond reason. "What does it matter?"

I raised my eyebrows and pretended to be surprised. Sometimes the best way to teach was to ask questions to lead the pupil to the answer. Most often, the answer was something he already knew. "What do you mean, young master?"

"There's just you and me most of the time, so what does it matter if I swear?" he elaborated. He still looked very confused. "_You_ don't care if I swear and there's no one else to hear me..." He stopped and looked at me. "But you do, don't you?"

Ah, I'd asked the right question. "Yes, I do, young master."

He looked thoughtful and I could tell that he was putting together several things. "You've been fussing at me lately...is it because you don't like what I'm doing?" His tone was dangerous...he did not like the implied criticism at all. I would have to tread carefully.

"If you would permit me to speak plainly young master, I will be happy to tell you," I said.

"You're permitted. Go on."

Just because I was permitted to speak plainly did not mean that he would like hearing what I had to say. He might exact a terrible revenge of some sort, such as purchasing a dog. I would have to be extremely diplomatic. "You are a member of an old and distinguished family, young master, and a member of the upper classes of an ancient kingdom," I said. "However, your behavior of late is that of someone of no distinguished lineage and lamentable habits. If you wish to be a fine man, worthy of your lineage, then you will have to shed some bad habits. A person, they say, is the sum of his upbringing. Do you wish anyone else to say that it's been faulty?"

"I don't give a damn what anyone else thinks!" he growled.

"You can refuse to give a damn whether you have good manners or poor ones, but what do you think of yourself right now, young master?"

I'd said the right thing. I could see him thinking about it. He would never admit it, but he was less than proud of himself right now.

"I don't want to bring a stranger into the manor right now to teach me," he said, poking at the gravel path with his walking stick as if he could push that obstacle aside.

"If I may be so bold, young master," I said quietly. "I can do that quite well."

"You?" He stared at me, but I could see him thinking about the other things I'd taught him. It was clear I had the knowledge for such a task. "All right, then. We'll begin tomorrow."

It seemed as if I would have to endure an extra day of poor behavior. Ah, well.

* * *

We began the next morning at breakfast. While on the way to the dining room, I stopped him and placed a book on his head.

"What's this?" he asked, looking at me as if he doubted my sanity.

"This will teach you to walk properly, young master. You must keep the book balanced on your head until you reach the table."

"No one could do that," he said, sounding irritated.

"Forgive me if I boast, young master, but I can do it."

"You're a demon," he snapped. "You can do almost anything."

"Even so, young master, let's see how you do," I told him.

He took two steps and the book fell. "You see? I can't do it!"

"Yes, you can," I promised. "It will take practice, young master. All you need to do is learn the correct way to walk. Stand up straight. Don't shuffle you feet or drag your heels when you walk. Don't swing your arms back and forth and don't keep your hands in your pockets. See? Is that better?"

It was. He moved more easily, and the book stayed where it was supposed to be. His progress was slow, but we made it to the stairs. He stopped and looked at the stairs, book still in place. "How do I go down stairs with this on my head?"

"The same way you would walk with it on your head," I told him. "Go slowly and take your time. Instead of relying on your eyes to get you to the bottom of the stairs, rest one hand on the banister and allow that to guide you. Rest only one foot on each stair and go down them as you would normally."

He gave me a doubtful look, but he followed my instructions. We made our way slowly downstairs, across the hallway, and into the dining room. "I refuse to eat a meal with this on my head," he told me, removing the book and placing it aside before allowing me to pull out his chair so he could sit down.

I wasn't done teaching yet. "As long as you sit properly, you won't need the book. When at table for any meal, you must sit up straight," I instructed, pulling back on his shoulders so that he assumed the desired posture. "The only part of you that may rest on the table must be your wrists when you are taking a break from eating or between courses. At all other times, you must not lean on the table at all. Feet must be on the floor and your napkin on your lap. A small napkin is unfolded completely, while larger napkins are left folded in half. The crease goes next to your body." I watched him do as I said. More than once he had to pause and think about what I'd told him to do, but he managed to follow my instructions."Excellent, young master." He picked up the appropriate silverware, but I had to correct his grip. "Anchor your silverware in your hands by extending your index fingers along the stem of the fork and the spine of the knife; don't wrap all of your fingers around either." He corrected himself and began to saw at a piece of sausage. "Not like that, young master."

He stared at me. "Then how?"

"Anchor the food with the fork in your left hand and draw the knife towards you. Sawing at food in that manner is not acceptable."

In that manner, we continued with the meal. He learned not to let the rim of his glass rest against the bridge of his nose and he learned not to look into his glass while drinking, learned to take small sips, and to take small bites of his food and chew them well before swallowing.

"What's the purpose of that?" he asked after a few such bites.

"Eating slowly is easier on the digestion, allows for dinner conversation, is much neater in appearance, and allows you to taste what you are eating," I explained. "Now, let's press on, young master."

We continued the meal like that, with me giving instructions as we moved through the courses. He did well with the bread and butter after my explanations: tearing off a piece at a time and buttering it from a pat of butter he'd taken from the main butter dish and put on his bread plate. He did very well with the hot cereal and he used his spoon correctly and placed it in the correct position once he'd finished. Then it was on the scrambled eggs. I was relieved that he knew how to hold the cutlery and where such items should be placed. He knew the difference, I could see, between the resting and finished positions for his silverware, and he took directions well. Perhaps this wouldn't be as hard as I thought.

* * *

As soon as he got up from the breakfast table, the book went back on his head. He paused and glared at me. "Is this really necessary, Sebastian?"

"It is, young master," I promised him. "Practice makes perfect. There will come a time when you will not need the book at all."

"I hope so," he said, moving carefully away from the table. "This becomes tedious. What now?"

"We are going to give your education some attention, young master," I said.

He stopped and the book almost fell. "What do you mean?"

"While the lady governesses have been very astute in teaching you the content of your lessons, young master, there are other things that require attention if you are to be able to call yourself truly educated. We will see to that today, and I shall teach you."

He glanced at me and raised an eyebrow. "You sound almost eager to do that."

"Indeed, I am looking forward to it."

I had taken pains with my master's education. On my first night in his service I took the opportunity to read up on the subject and I'd formed an educational plan that included Latin, Greek, French, German, Ancient History, World History, English History, Geography, Civics, Economics, Commerce, International Trade, Literature, Penmanship, Composition, Grammar, Rhetoric, Logic, Philosophy, Speaking and Elocution, Mathematics (algebra, geometry, trigonometry, and some calculus), Science (biology, botany, chemistry, anatomy and physiology, and some engineering), Art, Music, Religion, Fencing, Horseback Riding, and Hunting. Most were standard for a gentleman's education and I flattered myself that my plan was better than that found in the public boarding schools. In such establishments, the students learned classical studies, writing, arithmetic, Euclid, Greek history, read the works of Pope, and studied antiquities. My plan would ensure that my master would be vastly more educated than most of his peers.

What most modern teachers did not realize that you could teach subject matter all you wanted, but if you did not teach how to think and learn and most importantly, how to behave, then all of that subject matter was useless. It was like pouring water into a sieve without first plugging the holes and expecting it to hold water. In order for a human being to be his absolute best (and absolutely mouth-watering), there were certain things he had to learn. I intended to teach those to my master.

"So what are these things you're so eager to teach me?" he asked, taking his customary seat at the table.

"Personal excellence, young master. You cannot call yourself a gentleman without it."

Another raised eyebrow. Could it be possible he'd never heard the term? "Could you explain that, please?"

"Personal excellence is a state of having several virtues and qualities that make one into a good man," I told him. "There are virtues of self-control, self-efficacy, regard, respect, and kindness. Pen and paper, please."

He reached for the pen sitting in the inkwell, but the book fell and banged into the desk in front of him. He groaned. "Sebastian, I'd like to take notes without the book on my head. I won't be able to concentrate if I'm trying to keep that book up there."

"That's allowable, young master. We can try again later," I said, taking the book and putting it aside. "Now, let's begin with self-control, shall we?"

"All right."

"Virtues of self-control are simple. First is temperance, which is self-control regarding pleasure. You know when to enjoy yourself and when too much fun is too much. The second is the virtue of good temper, which is self-control regarding anger. It is all right to get angry, just so long as you can control yourself. Ambition...well, I needn't speak to you about that. Your goals are simple and you do not over-reach yourself, so I won't need to teach you much about that." My lecture continued, covering curiosity, frugality, industry, and contentment. The last, sexual continence, we didn't need to approach until he was a little older.

"Let me see if I understand," he said as soon as I finished speaking. "Know when I should enjoy myself. I can become angry, but I shouldn't allow it to master me. Keep my goals to what I can accomplish at this moment. Don't allow my curiosity to get the better of me. Don't be wasteful. Work hard and don't waste time, and be happy with what I have. Did I grasp it?"

"Perfectly. Now, we have the virtues of self-efficacy."

He stopped and gave me a look that I'd come to consider his "pondering" look. "Sebastian, you're a demon, so why do you care about virtues so much?"

"Virtues make the man, young master."

"And the taste of a soul?"

Ah, he was such a canny little thing! "I have only your best interests in mind, young master."

"I don't doubt that. All right, then, go on."

Self-efficacy was covered quickly. Courage was the willingness to do the right thing regardless of the consequences, patience was the ability to delay gratification or wait for things, and perseverance was simply that, the willingness to continue trying. Such things would build fortitude. Virtues of regard were fair-mindedness, tolerance, truthfulness, and honesty. Children usually had a better grasp on those virtues than adults, so he absorbed that part of my lecture easily. Virtues of respect were respect for others, pride (honest self-respect), and politeness. Virtues of kindness were kindness toward others, generosity, and forgiveness. While it was true that many humans did not display such virtues, the best and brightest humans found ways to accomplish their goals while having such virtues. I was going to make sure that my master would be one such human. After all, if I couldn't manage that, what kind of butler would I be?

* * *

As the days passed, we covered more and more of the things I felt my master needed to know. He learned how to participate in a conversation, which was holding a balance between talking and listening. He learned the difference between polite interest in someone and intrusion into their personal affairs, and he grasped that unpleasant topics like money, illness, and death were to be avoided. Sharing an opinion was fine, but forcing his views on someone else was not. He learned which gestures were appropriate to make and which were not, how to enter and exit a room, and how to introduce others.

We continued with deportment. Every day there was the trusty book on his head, whether he was walking, standing or sitting. He learned to hold his head high, keep his back and shoulders straight, and how to tread lightly, rather than shuffle along. He learned to sit correctly on a chair and not to slump, slouch, lean, or otherwise sit improperly. He learned how to go up and down stairs, how to sit down and stand up, and how to move up and down hallways and across rooms...all while balancing a book on his head.

His lessons in dining etiquette took place at every meal. I reminded him how to best hold his silverware, how to use it, and how to eat quietly. The young master took my lessons in taking small bites to heart, and he showed more enthusiasm for that once he realized that eating in small bites allowed for easier breathing during a meal and allowed him to relax ad enjoy his food. Every night dinner was a formal meal, one with a maze of cutlery and courses for him to navigate, and as time passed, he needed only a few prompts from me in order to eat such a meal successfully with a minimum of gaffes.

I began his lessons in elocution as well. He needed to learn how to speak well. Not only would he have to learn how to properly pronounce words, he would have to learn how to use tone, posture, gestures, and inflections in order to get his point across. Most important was how to breathe during speaking, too little or too much breath in one's words ensured that the sound would be distorted. Mumblers had too little breath and shouters had too much. A moderate tone was what was needed, so I spent quite a few hours getting him to learn the correct volumes for different situations. He learned how to open his mouth and lips so the sound could exit his mouth, and he learned how to speak crisply. I turned to poetry for this. The vocabulary would not perplex him since they would be words he was familiar with, and the rhythms within the words would encourage him to slow down and take his time. One afternoon he and I were in the library and he was reciting the latest piece I'd chosen for him.

_Riches I hold in light esteem,_

_And Love I laugh to scorn;  
_

_And lust of Fame was but a dream,  
_

_That vanished with the morn:  
_

_And if I pray, the only prayer  
_

_That moves my lips for me  
_

_Is, "Leave the heart that now I bear  
_

_And give me liberty!"  
_

_Yes, as my swift days near their goal:  
_

_'Tis all that I implore;_

_In life and death a chainless soul,  
_

_With courage to endure.  
_

Once finished, he paused and looked at me. "What made you choose this poem, Sebastian?"

I smiled. "Why do you think I chose it, young master?"

He thought for a moment. "Iambic pentameter?"

His answer was so amusing that I forgot all decorum, fell into a chair and laughed, a deep, ringing laugh that I was sure could be heard outside the manor. My feet kicked as I gasped for air. I could hear birds taking flight from the trees outside and small animals scurrying for cover. "Iambic pentameter! Ah, young master, I have to say, I didn't realize you were fond of jokes!"

"I am not," he said, his tone icy. "Why are you laughing?"

"I thought the answer to your question would be obvious to you, young master," I said, gaining control of myself. "Consider the words of the poem. Now, of whom does it remind you?"

I could see the answer in his eyes. "Don't be ridiculous!"

"But I am most serious, young master," I said, rising from my chair. "The author, Miss Emily Bronte, could have been describing you. One of the highest virtues any human being can hold is to live true to himself. Miss Bronte did so every day of her life, despite the limitations that society and her circumstances placed upon her. You have been living your life exactly as you wish despite the limitations and circumstances you have. Isn't that right?"

If looks were capable of killing, the look he was leveling in my direction should have turned me into a smoking spot on the floor. How very fortunate I was, then, that all he could do was glare. "A gentleman does not glare at his subordinates, young master."

"This gentleman is getting damnably furious."

I cleared my throat...and ducked as a copybook came hurtling in my direction. It was clear that he hadn't fully absorbed my lecture on self-control.

"Temper, temper, young master," I chided him. "Shall I make you copy lines?"

He stared at me in something akin to horror. Since he'd agreed to have me as his teacher, he knew how strict I could be, and he knew that I could make him obey me even if he didn't wish to. "You wouldn't!"

"Perhaps a hundred lines of 'A fool shows his annoyance at once, but a prudent man overlooks an insult,' will help you remember to control yourself, young master," I said blithely. "It would be a good chance for you to practice your handwriting, as well. Perhaps I should have you copy it in both copperplate and italic..."

Panic lit in his eyes. "That's two hundred lines, Sebastian!" Before beginning lessons that day, he'd expressed a wish to go outside to the gardens before tea, but if he had to copy lines, he could bid those plans a fond farewell.

I smiled again. "Well, what must you do to avoid the lines, young master?"

He was thinking about it. I could see the frantic thoughts tumbling in that little head of his...Oh, this was delightful. At last, he drew himself up to his full height and gave the slightest of bows. "I apologize, Sebastian. It was wrong of me to throw a copybook at you. I should not have taken my annoyance and bad temper out on you. You did not deserve it, and I am sorry."

"It appears that you have been paying attention to your lessons after all, young master. Well done. Shall we go out to the gardens now?"

* * *

A letter arrived later that week. As soon as I saw the coat of arms on the seal, I knew from whence it came. I carried the letter to my master and he read it without betraying a bit of his thoughts. "I've been summoned to court, Sebastian."

"Indeed, young master," I said, examining the letter after he handed it to me. "Her Majesty wishes your presence at a dinner party and musical evening. Most interesting."

"I hate parties," he muttered, making his office chair rock back and forth. "All that bluffing and posturing and hypocritical well-wishing..."

"I think it's an opportunity, young master."

He stopped rocking in his chair and looked at me. "How so?"

"Her Majesty has never summoned you to court before except to invest you as earl. Now, suddenly, she calls for you. Why do you think that is?"

He thought about it and suddenly, he wore what I considered his "suspicious" face. "She wants to see how I'm getting on. It's possible that someone's been making up rumors or telling stories about me...She may feel it's her duty to make sure I'm all right, especially if those rumors are something outlandish."

"Such as having a demon for a butler?" I suggested.

"That's not funny, Sebastian."

I smiled. "It's true, though."

"It's still not funny." He sighed. "I guess there's no way around it. We have to go. See to the packing and getting the town house ready. The sooner we go and get this over with, the better."

We arrived at Buckingham Palace shortly before the appointed time and once my master's evening cloak had been handed off to the coatroom attendants, he and I moved through the halls and he took his place in the receiving line to greet the queen. I was pleased with how perfectly he greeted people he met, despite their station. (He and I had devoted two afternoons to proper forms of address for royalty, nobility, and gentry.) It was rather gratifying for me as his teacher to see such success. He made his greetings to Her Majesty and then joined the milling crowd. I was at his side within moments.

"Well done, young master."

"Just stay by my side," he said. His nervousness around crowds was starting to show and he would be calmer with me by his side.

We made our way through the crowd and eventually the bell rang to go in to dinner. He took his seat with all the aplomb expected of a young man of his station and he handled the silver and glassware like an expert. He ate each dish perfectly with no fuss, trying a bit of each course without showing too much favor to one thing, not even the dessert. He had learned his lessons very well, indeed.

"How are you holding up?" I asked as we followed the crowd from the table into the music room.

"I can't wait until this evening's over," he whispered. "Other than that, I'm fine."

A musical evening was just that, an evening of music. Unless someone was truly a lover of music, then such evenings could be mind-numbingly dull, but lately, a fashion for having one's guests perform after treating them to a performance of your own had become all the rage. At any rate, it kept the guests awake. It appeared that guests would be expected to share their musical talents tonight since a host of instruments were at the ready in the music room.

"Oh, no." I could tell that my master had drawn the same conclusion I had had.

"You might not be required to play, young master. So far, our luck has been good."

"You may have just ended our luck by mentioning it, you know."

Ooops.

The first few performances were good. One young duchess sang a French song, an older man gave a cello performance but his abilities were rather indifferent, a young viscount mangled a harp piece, and a young woman did her best with some Vivaldi.

The sweet, grandmotherly voice sounded like the crack of doom. "I understand you play, Earl Phantomhive. Would you play something for us?" Her Majesty sat there, smiling benignly.

My master stood and bowed. "Certainly, Your Majesty," he said. "Might I have my butler accompany me on the piano?"

Immediately I knew what he was thinking. He and I had been practicing Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata as a duet for piano and violin. It was a popular piece and was sure to go over well.

"If you please," Queen Victoria said easily. "I'm quite looking forward to this."

Light applause accompanied us to the front of the room. I took my place at the piano as my master picked up the violin that was ready. I pressed the keys for G below Middle C, D above Middle C, the A, and then the E. Using those notes, my master tuned the violin and began to nod his head in time. I caught the time, nodding my own head, and at another nod from him, I began to play the introduction. He and I had practiced the piece until we could play it from memory and blindfolded (I'd insisted on it) and now all of that practice stood us in good stead. We held our audience spellbound and as the last notes died away, every person was held silent in rapt attention. Then, applause exploded and several people jumped to their feet, congratulating us.

"Thank God that's over," my master breathed out in a sigh of relief as he gave a modest bow.

"Amen," I intoned. For once, my feelings echoed my master's entirely. I had not realized how nerve-wracking playing for royalty could be, human royalty or not. I got to my feet, clapped for my master, and took my bow when told to. I was not eager for a repeat of this night any time soon.

The rest of the night passed without incident, and I couldn't tell who was more relieved, my master or I. When we bade Her Majesty good night, she smiled at us both. "I have to admit, my lord, that any rumors circulating about you are false."

"Rumors, Your Majesty?"

"Nasty little things, those rumors," she said, patting my master on the shoulder. "I'd heard that you had all the manners of a guttersnipe and were growing up to be nothing but an unschooled savage, but I'm glad to see that that is not so. If that had been the case, I would have brought you here to ensure you received a proper education, but it seems that you have found a good teacher, hmm?"

My master smiled. "Indeed, Your Majesty," my master agreed. "Sebastian is an excellent teacher."

I bowed. "My master gives me too much praise."

"It is well-deserved, young man," she said. "Now, get your master home to bed. It is getting late and one as young as he needs his rest."

"Thank you for reminding me, Your Majesty," I told her. "Please come, young master."

In the carriage on the way home, my master sat across from me, bouncing his leg up and down and staring out the window. "You were right, Sebastian. There had been rumors."

"I thought there might be," I said. "Whoever it was that ordered your family killed would do whatever he could in his power to discredit you in Her Majesty's eyes. Starting rumors fits."

He sighed. "Yes, it does." He stared at his leg. "I'm absolutely exhausted but I feel like I'm never going to calm down," he complained. "I'm so tired I can't stand it, Sebastian."

"You're only overtired," I pointed out. "When we get back to the townhouse, I'll fix you something hot to drink. Maybe then you'll feel like going to bed."

While my master went upstairs, I heated some milk, cut a slice of chocolate cake, and added honey, vanilla, and nutmeg to the milk. I carried the lot upstairs, helped him into his nightshirt, and tucked him into bed so he could enjoy his snack. He polished off the cake (it was his favorite dessert, after all) and sipped at the milk while I chattered about commonplace things. He'd once said that my voice was soothing, so I sought to soothe him. Once he finished the milk, he settled back into his pillows. "Stay until I fall asleep, Sebastian."

"Yes, my lord. Shall I sing you a lullaby?"

He sat up only long enough to glare at me. "No, thank you. Instead, please tell me a story."

I smiled at the courtesies of "please" and "thank you." It appeared he had learned his lessons well. "Yes, my lord."

**A/N:** _Contrary to rumor, I have not died or gone into hiding. I've just been very, very busy. Think busy to the power of 10. I wanted to do a piece where we see Ciel learning the refined behavior so important to a member of the upper classes, so I sat down and wrote it. Before any of you ask, yes, I received a lot of the lessons in this piece. I had a grandmother who taught me a great deal about good manners and morals and several good teachers at school who continued the instruction. Did I ever have a book on my head or lessons in table manners? Of course I did. If I hadn't I wouldn't have been able to write this story, so I dedicated it to Grandma. Thanks, Grandma. You're the best._


End file.
